Let's start of MILD, shall we? 😈
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He was already sunk deep into the oversized chair when she walked in, wrapped like some smug sorceress in an oversized Steelers blanket. He didn’t even look up at first, just heard the shuffling and caught the blur of black and gold in his peripheral. When he finally glanced her way, his expression made it perfectly clear.
“What trash is that?” he asked, eyeing her as she flounced into the room.
She didn’t flinch, only turned a slow circle in place to show off every bit of her team spirit. The pajama jersey hung just long enough to flirt with modesty, the matching shorts clinging tight beneath it. Bold Steelers logos dotted both like battle armor. He didn’t know it yet, but her panties were also adorned in black and gold logo.
And then the blanket. Thick, gaudy, and offensive to everything he held sacred in sports, trailed behind her like royalty.
“My team is playing,” she said, stepping toward him. “And I want the TV.”
He turned back to the screen, deliberately slow. “That’s funny. I was just watching the real sport of the day.”
“You can watch it later.”
“I was here first.”
She padded over, smug now, and dropped onto the ottoman directly in front of him. “You’re gonna give it to me.”
“Oh, I am, huh?”
“Mmhmm.”
He gave her the kind of once over that said he might, but he’d make her work for it. “Wearing that getup? You oughta be banned from the living room.”
“That’s not how any of this works.” She leaned in, voice dripping honey. “I want you to stay and watch it with me.”
“I don’t even like your team.”
“You don’t have to like them. You like me.”
He scoffed. “You know I can’t root for the Steelers.”
“Cant or wont?”
“Cant.”
She considered a moment. “So it’s a choice.”
He nodded. “Sure is.”
“Not even if it makes me happy?”
“Not even then.”
“A choice.” She pouted.
He smirked. “Yeah, it’s a choice. And you’re welcome to try and change my mind… but it’s gonna cost you.”
She gave a theatrical sigh and stood up, pacing. “Okay, what if I made it interesting? Like…we make a bet each week?”
“My team sucks,” he said flatly. “I’ve got nothing to bet with.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got plenty. You’ve just been holding out.”
He tilted his head lazily against the chair. “Watcha got in mind?”
She walked over and planted herself square between his knees. “You.”
He raised a brow. “You’re gonna bet me on football?”
“Nooo,” she said, dragging the word out. “I’m going to use you to make football better.”
His arms crossed. “That sounds dangerous.”
“Maybe.”
There was a pause.
“…Go on.” He finally said.
“Alright,” she said, planting her hands on his chest and slowly lowering herself until she was straddling him in the chair. “Here’s my offer. You stay in the chair with me. You suffer through the game.”
He was quiet for a beat. And then, with a dangerous tilt of his head, “I suppose I can… but I get to spank you every time they score a touchdown.”
She blinked, lips parting, but didn’t move. “That’s what it’ll take?”
“That’s the bare minimum,” he said, hands sliding to her thighs now, just barely squeezing. “And… every time they score, you take off something, too.”
She leaned forward, arms curling behind his neck. “Is my team losing not enough joy for you?”
“Try again.”
“What happens if I run out of things to take off? I only have three items on.”
His hand continued sliding slow along her thigh, a slow, wicked grin spreading on his face. “Then you’d better pray your team doesn’t run up the score, because I’d have to find other ways to collect.”
She tilted her head, lips pursed like she was carefully considering. “Alright then… with each touchdown, you spank me and I take something off. That fair enough for you?”
His gaze darkened. “Blanket too.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Blanket doesn’t count.”
“That’s a separate crime altogether. You want the TV, this is what it costs.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s warm and I’m cold. And it’s part of the experience.”
“It’s offensive.”
She fired back. “You’re being offensive, and I’m still sitting in your lap.”
He gave her an exaggerated once over. “You know those pajamas are a crime in this house, right?”
She rocked her hips forward just slightly, enough for him to feel how unbothered she was. “Guess touching’s off limits then, huh? With these jammies on?”
He didn’t move, but his grip moved to her hips and tightened. “That’s… different.”
“Oh, is it?” she teased, leaning in. “Explain how.”
He looked her in the eye. “Because I might hate what you’re wearing… but I sure as hell don’t hate what’s under it.”
Her mouth twitched. “So you’re saying you want the Steelers off me?”
“I want me to take the Steelers off you.”
She gave a mock gasp. “Blasphemy.”
He grinned, leaning in just enough to brush his lips along her throat. “Better repent, then.”
His hands slid higher, one pressing into the small of her back, the other curling possessively behind her neck. When he kissed her, it was slow and sure, all pressure and promise. Her hips shifted forward again, and this time it wasn’t teasing, it was heat, unmistakable and heavy.
“You’re trying to distract me,” she murmured, breath catching as his mouth traveled down her collarbone.
“Is it working?”
“No. I know your tricks.” She breathed, even as she leaned into him.
He dipped his head lower, pushing the strap of her tank aside until the fabric gave way to skin. His mouth found her nipple, pulling it into his mouth, tongue drawing lazy circles and gently sucking until she arched against him.
Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, but she still managed to speak. “You’re definitely trying to get out of watching the game.”
“Touchdowns are optional,” he said against her skin. “This… isn’t.”
She pressed him closer, holding him there for another slow, lingering pull. But then she shifted just enough to pull him off.
“Deal or not?” she inquired, shifting to business tone.
He looked up at her, still licking his lips like he wasn’t done, hand rising to take over the job. “If they win?”
“You give me as many orgasms as they score touchdowns.”
He raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “That’s not exactly a high bar.”
“It’s still less than I get on any given night.”
He chuckled. “Aaaand… if they lose?”
“They’re not gonna,” she shot back, confident.
He ignored her confidence. “Terms,” he insisted.
She gave him a look, lips pursed. “I’m already yours for the night. That’s nothing new.”
His hand slid slow up and down her sides, lingering near the swell of her breasts. “Then I’ll make it different.”
Her brow arched. “How?”
“You sleep naked. No awful team blanket, no pajamas. Just you.”
Her mouth fell open, half gasp, half protest. “I don’t sleep naked.”
“That’s the point,” he said smoothly. “If they can’t perform, neither can your jammies. They’re gone.”
She folded her arms, the color rising in her cheeks betrayed her. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“More than you know,” he murmured, hands still roaming. “Take the bet.”
She hesitated, chewing her lip. “What if there’s a fire?”
His eyes held hers, calm and steady. “Then that awful blanket will be ash and you’ll be naked in the front yard.”
She huffed, glanced at the TV, then back at him. “Fine. But they’re not going to lose.”
His grin widened, satisfied. “We’ll see about that.”
And just like that, she slid off his lap, grabbed the remote, and clicked over to the pre-game commentary while he groaned dramatically behind her.
“Just remember,” he said, “when they score, so do I.”
She tossed the blanket at him and sauntered off to grab snacks. “You better root for them, then. Otherwise, I’m keeping my clothes on, and you're not getting anything.”
He caught the blanket and held it at arm’s length, scowling at it like it might bite. “This thing is going in the fire the second you fall asleep.”
She called from the kitchen, “You do that, and next game, I’ll wear the matching socks and get you a matching jersey to go with mine.”
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